Second League Boots
by kingsgates
Summary: The room is plunged into darkness once more and a quiet voice sounds from behind him. "You should have stayed home little Prince." Pre-Thor.


_A huge, HUGE thanks to Mimbillia for beta'ing this for me. It's been a few months but I finally got it done. _

_I don't own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them. _

_Also, the title for this story is from the song Second League Boots by Zoe Keating. I listened to it a million times whilst writing this. _

_For those who aren't familiar with the myth, don't worry. I have taken elements of the myth and tweaked them a little to fit with my story. Loki does have a son, Narvi, who was killed by a wolf but it's different here. _

* * *

There is no greater place in Asgard than its vast market place. It is packed with people, loud with vendors shouting and the laughter of the patrons, children running under foot and the smells of different foods and various ales. It is almost like Asgard itself condensed into one area. In a square shape, permanent stores are built at the outer edge surrounding the smaller stalls set up in the centre. Every day the stalls change bringing visitors from all over the nine realms making Asgard one of the major traders.

Loki visits the market whenever he gets the chance. As a Prince, he can rarely go anywhere without being recognised or approached by people asking for favours and demanding his attention – down here though? He is left alone to browse the stalls and purchase whatever he needs in peace. He is still recognised of course, but was rarely bothered. Children would make a game of following behind him, asking for shows of magic and squealing in delight when he let sparks fly from his fingers, their parents watching on with slight smiles and inclining their heads briefly when he looked their way.

Today was no different. Loki browses the stalls for anything new that he can use – Thor had once mentioned seeing a stall the previous week that was selling beautifully crafted daggers and Loki finds himself hoping that they were still here. As he passes a fruit stall, he purchases an apple and passes it to the beggar child further down. The child gives him a shy smile and scurries off, taking a large hungry bite as he goes.

He walks for almost an hour but still hasn't seen the daggers his brother had mentioned. He's starting to think Thor made it up just to get him out of the palace when a strange feeling comes over him. A shiver works its way down his spine as a gust of cold wind blows past him, displacing his hair. Immediately pushing his hair back into its immaculate state, he turns to look at the shops at the edge of the market and pushes past the crowd to stand before the tiny shop in the corner. He smiles at the sign and pushes the door open.

It is dark inside; too dark for this time of day and this particular shop would usually be bursting with people. Loki calls out, but no one answers him. The strange feeling increases and Loki heads for the back room, forcing the door open with his shoulder when it sticks. As he stumbles into the room, the torches on the wall burst to life and Loki's eyes widen in shock as he looks at the walls, all of which have been covered in runes. His horror grows as he reads the words. He needs to leave, to find Thor or the guards. It is not safe here, he needs to—

The room is plunged into darkness once more and a quiet voice sounds from behind him.

"You should have stayed home little Prince."

* * *

Rubbing his eyes, Loki groans and pulls himself from the warmth and comfort of his bed. Blearily, he looks around his chambers, wondering what had woken him. His head throbs and as much as he'd like to stay in bed all day, he does have duties to perform. Shrugging, he heaves himself out of bed and opens his closet, pulling a silk green robe from within and sliding it over his shoulders. As he's tying the sash around his waist the heavy wooden doors of his chambers burst open as Thor surges in, his red cape billowing behind him.

"Brother!" Thor booms, his arms raised in greeting. "Where did you disappear off to yesterday? It is unlike you to miss tea with Mother."

"What are you talking about?" Loki frowns.

"Yesterday? You said you were visiting the market quickly and would be back in time for tea. She wasn't happy I can tell you that."

"You're delusional; I would never purposely miss tea with Mother. Is there something you actually want or did you burst in here _without knocking_ simply to disturb me?"

Thor waves a hand, brushing him off. "Well, I was going to ask if you would like to come to the ale house with me, but if you're going to be like this I'll just go without you. I'm sure Fandral would rather prefer my company. You can just stay here and do… whatever it is that you do." Thor looks dispassionately at the piles of books scattered around Loki's chambers.

"Get out then, I have a throbbing headache and you're only making it worse." Turning his back on his brother, he waits for Thor to leave.

Once the doors slam shut, Loki runs a hand through his hair and moves to grab the book on his bedside table. He pauses, hand raised above the book when he spots the wooden carving of a horse. Tears suddenly well in his eyes as he remembers the tiny hands that once held the figure, taking it on grand adventures. Loki picks up the toy, carefully cradling it in his palms, lowering himself until he is seated on his bed once more.

Loki has barely given it any thought in the last few years. There was once a time when he could not sleep unless the tiny sculpture was clutched tightly in his hands or hidden under his pillow. How could he have forgotten it so easily, moved on and forgotten the pure joy he once felt. Filled with shame, Loki closes his eyes and lets his tears fall, the small toy pressed against his heart.

He loses track of time, sitting on his bed unaware of whether a few minutes or a few hours have passed. When he finally raises his head and places the horse reverently back on his bedside table, the dull ache of his head moves to a fierce throb behind his eyes and he feels weak – like a fever is coming upon him.

Still dressed in his thin robe, Loki decides to visit his mother. She always keeps healing potions in her chambers – as Loki's childhood was filled with near fatal fevers and illnesses, she was determined to be prepared for anything.

Yet after taking only a few steps, sharp pain shoots through Loki's skull and he drops to the floor, clutching his head and digging his fingers into his hair, letting out a terrible scream. Through the haze of pain he hears a guard from the hallway calling for help and feels hands on his shoulders attempting to steady him as he writhed on the floor. There are quick footsteps and then soft hands on his own, trying to pull them from his hair. He thinks he can hear his mother's voice as whispered words send him into blessed darkness.

* * *

Loki wakes briefly, his head still pounding and his eye lids heavy. Before he can fall back asleep, he hears his son Narvi chattering excitedly and Loki smiles as his exhaustion takes over and he sleeps once more.

The next time he wakes, his mother is seated by his bed, one of his hands cradled in her own. Loki squirms under the bed covers, kicking them down to the end of the bed. It is so _hot_, why would she rug him up?

"Loki, no. Keep the covers on." His mother lets go of his hand and stands to rearrange the covers back around his shoulders. "Loki!" she scolds when he pushes her hands away.

"It's too _hot_ for covers. Do not put those back on me."

Frigga frowns and places her palm on his forehead. "You're a little warm, but it's not that bad." She opens up a window, but it makes no difference.

Loki reaches for Narvi's toy horse, though his co-ordination is off and he knocks it over instead, groaning with frustration when his fingers fail to grasp the small toy. Frigga gives a sad smile as she picks it up for him.

"I remember this. Your father and I had this made when Narvi was born, oh, how he loved it! What did he name it?"

"Nennir." Loki whispers.

Frigga laughs. "Oh yes." She runs her thumb over a dark stain on the horses flank and all joy vanishes from her face.

"Where is he?" Loki asks, looking around but only seeing his empty room.

"Who?" At her confused tone, Loki drags his gaze back to his mother.

"Narvi, of course."

She stares at him, frozen on the spot as her breathing picks up. "Loki, he's gone." Her eyes are brimming with tears and she quickly places the toy back in its place.

"Gone _where_? I just saw him!" Loki doesn't understand, why is she being like this? He rubs at the slight ache that has settles in his chest and he struggles upright in bed – if his mother doesn't know where Narvi has gone then he could be anywhere. He's only little and shouldn't be let out on his own. Loki becomes frantic when his mother tries to push him back into the bed and he continuously asks for his son. Instead of answering him, Frigga calls for the guards as she struggles with Loki, demanding that they send for Odin at once.

When his father finally arrives, his parents work together to force Loki to lie back – Odin murmuring calming words and Frigga softly singing a song from his childhood as he falls asleep once more.

* * *

It is the dead of night when Loki rises again, his parents seated by his bed – both asleep. A small giggle echoes around the room and Loki sees a small pair of bright emerald eyes peering over the side of his bed.

"Pabbi, I need Nennir!" Narvi whispers.

Grinning, Loki passes the toy over to his son who races to sit in front of the lit fire place, Nennir off on another grand adventure to find a terrifying dragon. Narvi's hand gets too close to the flames and Loki is out of bed with a shout, ready to pull his son back.

Odin and Frigga awake with a jolt to find Loki standing near the mantle, staring blankly into the flames, toy horse abandoned on the floor at his feet. Sharing a worried look, Frigga guides Loki back to his bed and tucks him in as Odin bends down to pick up the toy, only to snatch his hand back as a jolt of magic hits him. Frowning, he inspects the toy – but there is nothing, only wood with an old stain. As he crosses the room to sit beside his son once more, Loki murmurs "Do not break it."

* * *

If you had asked anyone in Asgard, they would have told you that Narvi had simply been a mini version of Loki. His black hair, emerald eyes and a cheeky grin were all Loki. Not to mention his love of exploring and always wanting to learn. Loki profusely apologised to his own mother, finally understanding her frustration and having constantly chased after him in his youth.

It was, of course, Narvi's need to explore that caused the royal family a great pain.

After heading into the woods with his nursemaid Nana for a picnic by a stream, Narvi had found a family of ducks to feed small portions of bread to. Nana, her attention focused on Baldr (the cause of the impromptu picnic) never noticed when Narvi followed the ducks into the trees after they had lost interest in him once they had eaten all the bread.

By the time she had realised, the young boy was long gone.

It had taken two days to find him.

He had gotten lost and after night had fallen he had been attacked and killed by a wold. The next day, after almost all of the palace guards had searched the woods, it had been Thor to find the tiny body. He had wrapped his nephew in in his great red cloak and carried him back home to Loki, who had dropped to his knees on the palace steps and _screamed_ while his mother had desperately held onto him.

Loki only vaguely remembers the funeral – placing his son in the long boat, dressed in his favourite outfit—and the finality of the flames.

* * *

Loki's condition only worsens over the next few days. Odin and Frigga are afraid to leave his rooms, worried about what Loki will do if left unattended. When awake, Loki speaks pleasantly with them only to turn his head and laugh or talk to the empty air beside moments later. He constantly asks after his son and they have found him numerous times standing in place, rubbing absently at his chest and blankly staring at the wall. While he sleeps, his magic is erratic – the fire place bursts to life and balls of light appear and flicker above him. Odin is frustrated; an old feeling. Looking at his youngest son bed ridden with fever and being unable to help him has always bothered him. He can wage war and he can unite realms under peace, but he is helpless when it comes to his family being ill. That was always Frigga's domain. She wipes Loki's face and neck with wet cloths, calms him when he has nightmares and stops him from clawing at his chest. They eventually had to call for the healers when Loki's temperature climbed and he began to sleep extensively. But it was all for naught – nothing the healers did could bring the fever down.

Needing to do _something_, Odin asks Eir to bring her records – any and all with the same symptoms as Loki. Soon, Loki's bed is covered with sheafs of parchment as Odin and Frigga work their way through each and every case while Loki sleeps. They rarely get the chance while he is awake – it is a constant struggle to keep him in bed. He had developed an odd need to escape from his rooms and would often mention the woods when they spoke with him. When Loki began sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night, Odin and Frigga took to sleeping in shifts so that someone was always watching in the event that Loki tried to escape. However, after many nights of keeping watch and then spending the days desperately searching through records, exhaustion catches up with them and they fall asleep and Loki wakes in the night and leaves his chambers while his parents sleep on.

After a frantic search through the city, Loki was found at the edge of the woods – he had stopped when heard the howl of a wold and was too afraid to go any further.

"He's getting worse." Frigga whispers, pulling Odin from his thoughts.

Loki shifts under his covers, deep in a restless sleep, tiny whimpers of pain slipping past clenched teeth. At each sound, Odin could see his wife's hope fading.

"We will find the answer, it is here, I know it." Odin waves a hand at the records before him.

"_Where_?" Frigga implores. "We have looked and looked and _looked_." Standing, she sweeps her arm over the bed, the records falling to the floor. They stare at each other in silence, Frigga breathing hard before closing her eyes in defeat and crouching to pick up the parchment. Odin rises and circles around the bed, catching her hands to still her.

"Frigga, my Queen, do not lose hope. I promise you, all will be well."

"I… I apologise, I acted rashly." Frigga wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder while Odin stroked her hair. They stand together, embracing by Loki's bedside until a knock at the door pulls them apart. Odin lets Frigga compose herself and return to her seat, smoothing out Loki's bed covers and wiping her face as Odin opens the door to see Thor standing on the threshold.

"Father." Thor gives him a slight smile. "How is he?"

Odin looks over his shoulder. Frigga's attention was once more solely focussed on Loki so he motions to Thor and they slip into the hallway. He needed a break – they were all on edge, especially Thor whom had been forbidden from entering Loki's chambers in case his illness was contagious. It was no matter to Odin and Frigga – they would stay with their youngest son through any danger. Thor had argued, of course he had, to stay with his brother but Odin needed him to attend council meetings and ensure that the members didn't eviscerate each other. There had been a few rather passionate disagreements in the past.

"Come Thor, I am in need of some fresh air."

* * *

They walk slowly, taking the opportunity to speak of the realm and of Loki. Father and son nod politely when they pass noblemen and graciously accept well-wishers asking after Loki's health.

Unknowingly, they have followed Loki's footsteps from the week before as they enter the market place. The constant noise is oddly soothing and gives Odin time to think. He's already come to the realisation that this is unlike any illness that Loki has had before. He considered poison for a while but Eir had quickly shut that idea down. She'd done tests for almost every poison in the nine realms but had found nothing.

Deciding to buy some flowers for Frigga, Odin leaves Thor at a weapons stall where he was gazing at some daggers and makes his way over to the western edge of the market, where the florist resides in one of the permanent shops along with a wood carver, a dressmakers and a bakery. He holds the door open for a young man whose arms are laden with quite possibly the largest bouquet Odin has ever seen and can only hope that whatever the youth has done, that those flowers would work as a proper apology. Odin prefers coming to this florist for this exact reason – any time he has upset his wife, this florist has always known exactly what flowers he needs. However as he is about to step inside, he feels the prickle of magic in the air – strong magic, not unlike that brief flash he had felt in Loki's chambers.

Closing the door, Odin looks to the shop on his left – the wood carver – and slowly walks over to it, the magic growing stronger with every step he takes. Pushing the door op, he steps inside, surprised by the brightness of the room. He had been here before, commissioned the toy horse in Loki's chambers when Narvi had been born.

He is about to call out when the carver steps in from the back room, the pleasant smile sliding from his face when he realises that Odin All-Father stands before him.

Spreading his hands before him, the carver calmly states, "I suppose it had to end eventually. Call your guards All-Father, we've much to discuss."

* * *

The carver allows himself to be taken to the dungeons without incident and is quite polite to any that speak to him as he waits patiently for Odin, who stayed behind at the man's shop to inspect the back room.

The sheer darkness of the magic housed in that one room was worrisome – how had Odin never felt it before? Heimdall had no knowledge of this either. This man was clearly a skilled sorcerer. Greater than any they had encountered before.

Ordering the guards to carefully collect everything in the room and lock it away in the vault, Odin makes to leave, pausing at the sight of a small dark stain on the floor before heading to the dungeons.

* * *

"What is your name?"

"What does it matter?"

Clenching his jaw, Odin waits. Losing his temper with this man will not help Loki. "Perhaps you could tell me about the runes you have in your shop?"

The man raises an eyebrow. "Do you mean the curse? I suppose there's no use hiding it anymore." The carver takes a deep breath and begins his tale.

At first, he had only done it to see if it would work – it did, _wonderfully_, and he was never caught. He shielded himself from Heimdall's view and worked on perfecting the curse. The magic was woven into the very grains of the wood he worked with. The curse itself mimics and illness and rarely leaves a trace. First are the headaches, followed by an intense fever and hallucinations before finally taking a grip on the heart and squeezing the life out of the victim.

The carver never singled anyone out, in fact he rarely knew which carving he was activating, only that it had worked. He was adamant that Odin understand that each carving could only affect one person and that it was usually the owner of the carving that became cursed and it could not be passed on.

"How many have you killed?"

"Oh, thousands." The carver smiles.

"And my son?"

The smile drops. "He was a challenge, let me tell you. That boy is strong, you had better keep an eye on him. I had to work a little harder with that one, change the curse and have it activate without a carving. I had never done that before. And I am sorry that it had to happen, but he stumbled into my little shop and would have ruined everything."

"How do we break it?" Odin demands.

"Break it? Oh no, _no_, you cannot break it."

Odin feels his hope disappear, ripped from him in an instant. "Why did you do this?"

"Why not?"

* * *

Odin orders the carver to be executed immediately though he does not stay to witness it. The last few days, Loki had been clutching at his chest – the last stages of the curse.

He races back to Loki's chambers, afraid of what he will find. Bursting through the doors, the first thing he sees is Loki thrashing in his bed, his head tossing as he screams and his hands clawing at his chest. Frigga and Eir stand on either side of him, shouting as they attempt to keep Loki still, tears rolling down Frigga's face.

Odin, with Gungnir in hand, passes by them and grabs the tiny wood carving which has spent years by Loki's bedside. Ignoring the chaos in the room he throws the figure onto the floor and brings Gungnir down upon it, smashing the figure into a pile of splinters.

Loki lets out a bone chilling scream and falls still, limp in his mother's arms as she sobs, but still breathing.

Staring down at the shattered remains of his grandson's favourite toy, Odin can only hope that Loki will forgive him.

* * *

Loki kneels in front of the fire place, his hands cupping the pile of splinters. His mother's hand comes to rest on his shoulder and she presses a lingering kiss to the crown of his head.

Crying silently, Loki throws the splinters into the fire, feeling the loss of his son all over again.

* * *

Odin proclaims that all the carvings made be brought to the palace for destruction. He knows that not all of them will be returned; many were gifts from loved ones and would be hard to part with. There is nothing he can do about that. But what he can do is attempt to save as many lives as he can. The people are grateful and sing his praises louder than ever before. It matters not.

Loki has not spoken to him and has no plans to for the foreseeable future. Odin does not blame him; that toy was all he had left of Narvi. Odin will give him space, time to get his head around everything that happened and emerge from his renewed grief. All will be well.

He can only hope.

End.

* * *

_For anyone who cares, Nennir is Norse for "Ghost Horse". Thanks for reading! _


End file.
